Friday, 09 September 2011

Before we left Heathrow we enjoyed observing an American family – not typical American; not typical of anywhere: pregnant mother, father and about 3 little children between the ages of 2 and 4. In their oversized, dressing-up-style clothes the children looked as if the parents had said, “Choose what you want to wear from our wardrobes”. On a previous NY visit we’d seen a notice that said, to our bemusement, Respect the fence. These children didn’t respect fences, ropes, boundaries of any sort. They climbed under, over and on them, ignoring all attempts to divide and marshall the passengers. The parents were indulgent. “I hope they aren’t sitting close to us on the plane,” Steve said. They were, but the whole family was charming. As we were getting off the plane in New York a feisty, American mother, with her immaculately dressed daughter, said to them, “Can you let me off before you? You have about 10 children, whereas I have only one.” We’d been saying to them, “After you. Can we help?”

The West/West divide starts here.

THE ARRIVAL

The yellow cab drew up and the doorman carried our cases into the lovely building. In the lift we smugly pressed PH. The familiar smell of books, wood, leather - the indescribable smell – greeted us when we entered the flat. We sighed, laughed and danced with pleasure at being back. The sunlight was streaming into the spacious rooms. We opened the French windows, walked around the roof terrace and breathed in New York.

It was early evening here, about midnight in England. Following Christian’s suggestion we went to a nearby Italian restaurant – Nonna’s - for cheap, quick food then back to our giant bed and to watch NY 1 – a NY news channel followed by the sleep of the jet-lagged. We are so happy to be here.

FRIDAY 2 September

Today was supposedly a quiet, relaxing day but it was our first day back in NY so no chance. Breakfast on the roof garden then we were off. We picked up Village Voice and bought The New York Times and Time Out New York. We walked down to the Lincoln Centre. A large screen was up in the courtyard and hundreds of chairs arranged in rows beyond the fountains. We discovered that there were free screenings of operas from the Met for the next 4 nights. Amazing. These screenings are almost as expensive as the opera tickets themselves in England. Our next few evenings are sorted.

Walked on to The Modern - a posh hotel next to MOMA. Its restaurant overlooks MOMA’s lovely sculpture garden. Had a long, restful, delicious bar lunch then walked a few more blocks to Bryant Park. I love the story of Bryant Park: once a wasteland, home of drug dealers, avoided by everyone. Now it is filled with flowers, trees and people relaxing on the grass. Children play, workers have their lunches, others play chess, read, meet and talk. It has been developed so imaginatively with an Outdoor Reading Room (my inspiration for the one at Ways With Words): classes in juggling, Thi Chi, yoga; a regular piano recital. I think the courtyard at Dartington should be just like this at Ways With Words.

Back to Moma for the free entry on Friday evening. Crowded but partyish. Overheard: Next time I’ll pay the 25 bucks to escape these crowds. We didn’t feel like this; we liked the busyness. It wasn’t as crowded as some exhibitions in London where you pay an entry fee and then can’t get near the art.

We had been told to get to the opera early for free seats so we did. It slowly became very full. Perfect: a balmy evening that remained warm, the lights of Manhattan twinkling around, the swish of the fountains and an unusually egalitarian opera crowd. Puccini’s La Fanciulla del West had dire words (at least in translation) and a mundane plot but sublime singing – and all the excitement of the Met. We clapped as if it were live.

Bed Bed Bed – and a huge one too.

OUR TIME HERE MOVES ON - too quickly

Some Observations

Food Shopping: New York seems expensive. The recession in England has resulted in shops doing loads of offers and reducing prices; it’s almost impossible to buy one of anything in supermarkets. Here I am amazed by the price of a jar of peanut butter or a lb of black grapes (yes – lbs). I probably don’t know where or how to shop.

Television: We have found CNN for our news (though Steve reckoned he got repetitive strain injury pressing the buttons through the channels to find it).

One presenter in an interview: Wow, hey, um, that’s amazing. I just don’t get it.

With straight reporting the presenters gabble at break neck speed as if they are afraid of forgetting.

Not the 10 o’clock news.

Health: When we were here last there was worry about swine flu. Now there’s much measles anxiety. Also many adverts for flu vaccination; it’s that time of year.

Obesity awareness seems to have increased judging by the adverts on how to avoid it.

Am I better informed or made more neurotic? Not sure – but long live the National Health.

Books: The book shelves here tell us so much about their owners. Obviously the titles reveal their politics, interests and concerns but the vast numbers of books in every room suggest a reading way of life. The faded covers and pages of many books indicate the age of the owners and a long, book-filled life. Books talk.

If a Kindle replaced this book-collecting life people would become more anonymous. No longer could you surreptitiously scan the book shelves when you enter a room.

To get just a fraction of this information we’d have to say, “ Can you show me your Kindle?” and probably we wouldn’t feel able to say this. At least the English wouldn’t.

Research: counting numbers on busses and subways reading paperbacks, hardbacks and from E Books. So far hardbacks winning. Encouraging number reading altogether – but why not “read” New York instead of books? That’s what I’m doing.

SUNDAY 4 September

“Shall we have our traditional Sunday?” I asked Steve, feeling smug that we have a regular NY Sunday.

So we set off with our books for Central Park and found a shady bench overlooking the lake. We were distracted at seeing exercising New Yorkers run, cycle, skate board and sweat. Some young black men were doing a show with chanting, jokes, break dancing, acrobatics. Part of it involved leaping over a small child they took from the audience. Then they said, “We need an Asian man.” None volunteered so they picked one out of the audience. “Do you speak English?” they asked. All of this bothered me. Am I being too PC, too up-tight? Can’t help but feel they wouldn’t be happy being asked if they spoke English.

The Great Lawn was full of people picnicking, sun bathing, playing instruments, talking.

We often have brunch in the Boathouse but as we approached we were bombarded with demonstrators with giant blow-up mice, posters, leaflets. We were told not to go there as the kitchen were dirty and the owner a sexual harasser. “ Probably someone with a grudge,” Steve said. We had only one side of the story but we gave the protestors the benefit of the doubt, mainly because we were impressed with their energetic, organized and colourful protest.

We moved on to the Metropolitan Museum of Art – paying 1$ each as an entry fee instead of the suggested 25$. (Our hosts’ rules, but we do agree. High entrance fees don’t encourage a thorough appreciation of art. Instead you try to consume too much on one visit. Also so divisive: museums for the middle classes.)

We went up the elevator to the Sculpture Roof and saw Anthony Caros against the treetops of Central park and the skyscrapers beyond.

Later went to see the film of One Day. Frothy but quite fun.

NEW YORK IS DRIPPY – LITERALLY

After very hot days the rain has come. The television told us to beware of ponding – with good cause. Lots of ponds underfoot.

Drips and Young People on My Head:

On Labor Monday unexpected drips. We were sitting in a very full downtown diner (Peels – sister to Freemans) when water started to fall on my head and food. We politely pointed this out to the receptionist in case someone had left a tap running. “ That’s because of bar-tender error”, she said. They found another table for us and produced buckets. On a nearby table a woman drawled, “What a situation! ”

Upstairs was packed with scantily dressed youth. Any minute the wet ceiling could have collapsed and they might have landed in my grits.

TRACES Off Broadway: Later I had further worries about young people landing on my head. We went to see Traces at Union Square theatre. Off Broadway, neo circus acts. Six fit young men – and one woman – did alarming, daring acrobatics/dancing. We sat just 4 rows back and I was sure they’d land on my head when they flew through the air. Amazing! As Chloe emailed, “ There’s worse ways to go than having gorgeous men fall on your head in New York”. She has a point.

Parks and Places

The parks in New York reveal all that is best about the city. We were in Washington Square Park and a small group of musicians started playing together. Soon a large group – all ages and races – gathered around them to sing, dance shake, bang and join in. “Stand by me,” they bellowed. Such energy and lack of inhibition.

Others were playing chess together. Parks are the solution for the lonely I decided. My new mission in life is to be a park creator – starting in Totnes.

St Pauls: a tiny church next to Ground Zero that was built in the 18th century, and miraculously wasn’t hit on 9/11, is giving free Bach concerts each lunchtime this week to mark the 10 years since the attack. (Bach at One – a title which really amused Steve) We have tried to avoid the 10th anniversary hype (What about the thousands that die every day in other parts of the world? I usually say) but we were very moved and impressed by this tiny church. It had been a place for support for all the distressed after 9/11 and the church had been filled with beds so that firemen and volunteers could go there for a sleep. There were banners and gifts from all over the world. Before the concert they had 2 minutes silence and a short service. There was a great emphasis on taking care of everyone whatever their faith, race, politics, beliefs etc.

The Bach was fantastic too.

Videl and Chloe’s friends, Christian and Emily, live in the Upper West side so came for drinks then we went out to dinner together. Lots of lively discussion on NY life. They were great company. Stopped talking in the early hours and leapt over ponds home to our cosy bed. (Well not really cosy; it is so huge.)

NOT THE ENO

“Why are so many people wearing tee shirts with ENO on?” I thought. Is the English National Opera in New York? Then noticed I’d missread them. Actually they said FNO – Fashion Night Out. One Thursday a year shops focusing on fashion, in Chelsea and Soho particularly, stay open very late, have bands playing, give out free cocktails and food and most importantly for some – discount their clothes. Marquees appear on street corners; I’m not sure why. The streets were packed with young people (mainly) in decorative clothes and dangerous shoes. We milled and drifted around.

While we had a drink in Pastis we watched rows of bikes appear. Each had been decorated by a designer. A man offered one to me to ride around New York. I liked the idea of riding the streets on a bike covered with buttons and lace but the roads were very busy so instead I photographed them.

We found respite from the crowds at the 18th floor, rooftop bar of The Standard. The place was too blingy for us but what views – 360 degrees of the sights of Manhattan, the Hudson river and New Jersey. A jazz band played and we sat on cream leather sofas and marvelled.

The most disconcerting experience was going to the loo. One wall of the small cubicle was plate glass, one mirror. So you could watch yourself having a pee way above the lights of Manhattan. Terrifying – but you definitely were not overlooked.

THE HIGH LINE - is just that. A high walkway created from an old rail line. About a mile and a half walk filled with grasses, flowers, stylish benches and sculptures high above the bustle. NY is all about views.

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

ITALY: as soon as I type the word I sigh with pleasure. It could be because the place suggests what for me constitutes a good life: food, wine, relaxed time, conversation, sunshine, books and visual feasts. Slow living in fact. Any country that has a name for an evening stroll that involves wearing your best clothes, cafes and meeting friends is the place for me. If England went in for la passeggiata wouldn’t life improve?

I feel Ways With Words’ festivals involve some of the best aspects of Italian life. Sitting with a glass of wine and watching visitors and writers walk around the medieval courtyard at Dartington Hall comes quite close to la passeggiata. The stone buildings, the terraced gardens, the 14th century Great Hall, the babble of discussions about events, people sitting in groups quietly observing the passing scene, the chance to relax over a light or more substantial meal: definitely la bella vita.

At all our festivals we aim to provide a range of topics that has a wide appeal to audiences - not just topics to appeal to the programmers. Yet looking at this year’s programme for our 20th festival at Dartington Hall I see many Italy-related events.

On Monday, 11 July, David Gilmour is talking about Italy’s political system.

On Tuesday 12 July, Anna del Conte, the cooks’ favourite cook (Nigella Lawson’s guru for a start) is appearing on stage with her daughter and granddaughter to talk about food and family. Coco, her granddaughter, is her regular kitchen assistant. Lucky Coco is learning the art of Italian cookery as an apprentice to the mistress of the art. Like all Italian cooks Anna del Conte believes in good food, prepared with love and care for those she loves and cares about.

On Saturday 16 July Katie Hickman talks about 17th century Venice.

For an Italophile like me this is bliss. I’ll be there at all these talks.

At present I am reading two books (I usually read at least two books at once), both about Italian life. On Thursday 14 July at the festival I am interviewing Tracey Lawson who has studied the longevity of the villagers of Campodimele, so I am reading her book, A Year in the Village of Eternity. As a food editor she was particularly interested in the diet that seemed to produce such long, active, healthy lives amongst the villagers but she writes, “I discovered something much more important – how to live well.”

The other book that I am reading is by Julia Blackburn, Thin Paths. Julia lives with her husband, Herman, high up in the mountains of Liguria. There she has made close friends with people of all ages who have lived in the area all their lives. They tell her their personal stories as well as the history of the region. This is intermingled with incidents from Julia’s own life and her insightful and entertaining observations – all related in her striking prose.

People who have been on Ways With Words’ writing, reading, painting and philosophy courses in Umbria will remember Julia as an inspiring writing tutor. This year I shall be indulging my passion for Italy further in September when we return to Italy to run our usual courses. For two weeks around 25 Ways With Words people will be staying amongst hills, vineyards and olive groves at the 17th century Villa Pia. Tutors will encourage writing and painting for those who are focusing on their own creativity. Large Italian meals will be served by the four Italian chefs in the sunny courtyard. We shall marvel at the works of Piero della Francesca who was born nearby, enjoy the umber colours of the fields and buildings glowing goldenly in the early autumn sunlight. Food, wine, relaxed time, conversation, sunshine, books and visual feasts: slow living in fact. I know I am repeating myself but la vita e bella indeed.

Ways With Words courses run at Villa Pia, Lippiano, Umbria from Saturday 24 September for 2 weeks. It is possible to book for one or two weeks. A few spaces have become available. There are more details on our website wayswithwords.co.uk. Or phone Bryony on 01803 867373.

The Telegraph Ways With Words Festival takes place at Dartington Hall, Devon from 8-18 July. Come to hear the Italy related events mentioned here or any of the 160 talks which you can view online.

Wednesday, 26 January 2011

Two women walkers came into the café in Grasmere where we were having lunch. Previously we had left a pile of programmes for the Words by the Water Lake District festival on the window ledge. One put down her walking sticks and picked up a programme. She proceeded to open it at the beginning and read it carefully word for word. Maybe she felt that was the right thing to do considering its title but I wouldn’t access the programme like this. If I found this programme I’d flick excitedly through it.

“Wow” I’d say. “Look who’s coming to this festival! Oh I’d love to see Roy Hattersley or Salley Vickers; her novels are great. Oh and Valerie Grove is speaking on her biography of Kay Webb, the founder of the Puffin club. And there’s an event on the history of the Ordnance Survey maps. Can we go? I want to spend all 10 days in Keswick.”

In other words I’d babble on in an incoherent way if I came across the programme. Not our fellow diner. She never mentioned the programme to her companion, never discussed it. Was this because she was totally unimpressed? Or was she just filling in time until her pannini arrived? She had read through Melvyn Bragg’s introduction where he explains he is programming Saturday 5 March as it’s our 10th festival. Friday 4 March: Michael Frayn, Claire Tomalin, Raymond Blanc – no comment. (“The first w/e is amazing. We’ve got to go!” I’d be babbling with joy.)

By the entry on Maureen Lipman ( Sunday 6 March) the walker’s lunch had arrived and she put the programme down – with no comment.

I wanted to ask her what she thought of the programme, to ask whether she would be coming and if not why not. All this would have been good market research. I could have introduced myself as the director of the festival but I’m so British, so reserved.

She probably is too and would have been polite but dismissive. I know some writers who have been unable to resist telling a stranger who was reading his/her book that he/she was the author only to be met with cold stares. So I remained silent – but curious.

We continued through the torrential Cumbrian rain to leave thousands more damp programmes around. Such serendipity. Will someone pick one up and respond as I would? I feel like the sower in the bible: stoney ground or fertile? Who knows?

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

Does Italian food and drink make you more creative? I’m beginning to think it does.

You would think that large meals and copious wine would make you sleep but not at all. We all over eat here. Fruit, wine, beer and cappuccinos are available at all times. It could be disastrous to purposeful creative work but there’s no sign of that.

After the extensive Villa Pia buffet lunches with over 30 dishes (yesterday pasta, crostini, rocket and cheese, melon and parma ham, roasted peppers in olive oil, fennel in cheese sauce, roast chicken in olives, beef, and lots more I have forgotten – just typical home cooking in Italy) artists rush to paint the olive groves and cypress trees, writers sit on terraces scribbling purposefully; others read in deckchairs (or did that book slip from their fingers?); some swim - definitely awake in the pool. No-one is obviously snoozing.

At dinner a 4 course meal is usually followed by an illustrated talk on Piero della Francesca, a film or a writer speaking on his/her work. Of course everything is optional and dosing at all times is allowed but the level of activity is astonishing.

On Fridays we have a Private View where artists display any work they want to show that they have produced here. Later writers read from their work. Proof that intake has not reduced output.

Maybe if we could ship our Italian cooks, Patrizia, Marinella, Bepe, Luciano, back to England to feed us all the time we could soon rival Tate Modern and Penguin Books for creative production. On the other hand maybe there are other factors that aid a creative life. What can they be? Perhaps a heated outdoor swimming pool with views of vines, ploughed fields, hilltop villages or maybe it’s the sunny courtyard where people relax and talk together fuelled by fresh cappuccino or a glass of Multipulciano wine. The calm and peace of mist floating over hills each morning and the pink sunrises and sunsets help.

So what are the optimum conditions for a productive writing or painting life? It’s a mystery but I suspect removal from everyday life with all its pressures and distractions is a good start and we certainly have that here. Another helping of tortellini?

ContactWays With Wordsif you want to be whisked away from everyday life in 2011. There are always a variety of options. (Tel: 01803 86 73 73 or email admin@wayswithwords.co.uk)

Thursday, 30 September 2010

How long does it take before you stop saying, “This time last week....”? I can’t help myself. 4pm on Sunday 26 September and we are at Villa Pia. Julia Blackburn is leading a Book Group discussion on Eric Newby’s Love and War in the Apennines. Next Helena Drysdale has a writing workshop; Mary Knott is organising paints and pens for her art group. The tobacco leaves are being gathered from the fields; each morning the mist hangs low over the hills before a hot sun breaks through. Autumn has come to Umbria and so has Ways With Words. We have been coming to Villa Pia for 14 years to run courses in art, writing, reading, philosophy. but this year is different. We came here 10 days earlier for my daughter’s wedding and all I can think now is that this time last week we were sitting in the commune while Chloë and Videl were joined in holy matrimony – or whatever the Italian phrase is for that. Besides being family the bride and groom are also fellow directors of Ways With Words.

I knew Villa Pia would be a romantic and unusual place for a wedding but I hadn’t realized how special. And so I want to get every detail down - without boring the reader or myself (though no danger of that – I can’t get enough wedding details)

If I start with the Italian accordionist, Vittorio, serenading the bride just after midnight on the wedding day it sounds corny but the crying began then. Vitorrio on the accordian and Videl (bridegroom to be) on his violin started to play and sing traditional Italian love songs in the moonlit courtyard at Villa Pia. Chloë had just gone to bed, ignorant of this old Italian tradition, but when she heard the music she got out of bed and appeared at her window. So Romeo and Juliet. She was entranced. But Chloë is not one to miss a party. She left the window and came down to the courtyard in her nightdress and she and Videl waltzed to the music. Ahh. The cooks and staff hovered in the shadows, guests leaned out of windows; we all had lumps in our throats and the wedding hadn’t even begun.

Next morning most of the guests had leisurely breakfasts while a few of us moved decorations into the barn. Fairy lights, candles, flowers, tissue pompoms, lavender posies by each place name, silver leaves on the ivory table clothes: transformation.

A hairdresser from Monterchi came to sweep Chloë’s hair up into twirls and curls.

The kind Villa Pia staff sent a bunch of roses to Chloë’s room while she donned her bridal look. By 3.30pm the vintage Jaguar had driven up the high twisty road to the hilltop town of Monte Santa Maria Tiberina. The guests all gasped with appreciation as the bride walked into the town hall with her father followed by 5 tiny flower girls. Gillon and Sally stopped playing their violins and the ceremony began in Italian.

The mayor thanked them for choosing Italy for their wedding. I nearly interrupted with, “No. Thank you for allowing it to happen here.” Morag (Villa Pia’s owner) translated the vows. There were poems, more violin music, kisses.

The next bit was probably my favourite. The guests lined the cobbled medieval streets and threw flower petals and confetti as the bride and groom walked between them. Chloe threw her rosebud posy over her shoulder and her friend caught it. Dear, smiley, one-year-old Theo was handed to his mother and replaced the bouquet.

Vitorrio had driven up the mountainside and was playing on the restaurant’s terrace as we arrived for Prosecco and bruschetti. What a view! What joy! We gasped with pleasure, danced, smiled for the cameras – not difficult.

The convoy of cars – led by the vintage Jag with the happy Bar-Kars - wound down the long and windy road back to Villa Pia pipping their horns all the way; this was Italy.

It felt as if it was all over but it had barely begun: more prosecco at Villa Pia, then the wedding breakfast (odd misnomer) in the candle-lit barn. Danny Robins was the Master of Ceremonies. He made us all stand for Mr and Mrs Bar-Kars’ entrance. Much whooping and cheering. We remained standing for the Hebrew blessing from Videl’s father, David. Then the meal rolled – course after course. Danny entertained us with funny stories. He told of the Italian custom of shouting Bacio Bacio (kiss, kiss) whenever there was a quiet moment and the wedding couple had to do just that. Everyone embraced this custom with gusto, metaphorically and literally.

There were speeches from the main players. Chloë was witty and clever but overcome with emotion - as we all were. She said how supported she felt by her family and friends and indeed the atmosphere was heady with that love and support from the guests. Videl talked of his late-mother Traudi which made me weep at the thought of how she would have loved to be here – so sad for Videl. Later the Italian chefs walked round the tables while we clapped and shouted our appreciation. Danny read haikus he had persuaded Chloë and Videl to write to each other. Videl’s had been written well into his stag night and ended, “Chloë is a yum yum.” Videl had his head in his hands.

Alessandro lit a bonfire in the courtyard and we hovered over the flames eating wedding cake while the barn was cleared for dancing. Steve projected a series of photos of Chloë and Videl through the ages. Videl looked relaxed and normal in all his childhood photos while Chloë was being dramatic in most of hers.

Hamish: Haven’t you any photos of Chloë where she isn’t posing?

Tom Rodgers: Were you sponsored by a knitting firm? (as there were so many pictures of Chloë in woolly scarves, hats and gloves)

The party continued.

Eventually we drifted to bed worn out with emotion. At least I was.

Denis Healey was nicknamed “Mr. Maximum Extraction” because he extracted the maximum fun from wherever he went. Chloë’s friends deserve the same nickname. Over the next few days they played tennis, bounced on the trampoline, played water rugby in the swimming pool, walked the hills, had massages from Maria Giovanna. As each group left those staying banged pan lids for a loud, mad send-off. This old Ways With Words habit was very popular with the children.

By the end there were just about 20 people left. Then Saturday came and there was none.

Next year there will be Ways With Words courses (but no wedding) at Villa Pia at the end of September, start of October (get your name on a list now; places fill quickly).

Saturday, 07 August 2010

Our Ways With Words festival at Dartington Hall is our local festival. Our home and office is just 5 minutes drive away and the house is full of family and friends helping out with all aspects of the festival. We often just see them at breakfast. In a magazine interview I once said I’d prefer to miss a plane than miss breakfast and I meant it. So although a festival is waiting we all sit down to a candlelit breakfast: fruit, muesli, boiled eggs, toast, coffee and we talk about the day to come. John often has a quick breakfast as he has to pick up a writer to take to the station. One day Brian Keenan has to be driven to the airport. Lorna is reading and preparing as I’ve landed her with some last minute chairing. “Can you interview Fay Weldon tomorrow?” She is kind and always says yes to unpredictable gaps. Sam is ready for any trouble-shooting, though we hope there won’t be any trouble. He’s proved to have a supportive arm for P.D.James who at 90 is very fit but appreciates help with stairs – particularly from lovely young Sam. “My arm is here so you might as well take it”, I heard him say. Jess looks relaxed and is ready to cope with the crowds. Shirley Williams, Simon King, Richard Long, Ian McEwan: for these and many others there have been sell-out audiences and big queues for returns but she is unfazed. Her day job at ENO provides good training for her venue management job in the Great Hall.

Then our newly expanded group of directors discuss the day. Chloe and Videl work out who will be where; Steve and myself remind everyone of any unusual events or visitors. A piano will be tuned for Kit and the Widow, a projector set up for Richard Long and Martin Creed.

Then Theo arrives and is passed from knee to knee. He is all smiles as usual and this is his first festival. He’s not one yet so it will be some years before he has a proper role but I can imagine him walking around the gardens with Antonia Fraser, showing Martin Amis to his room, charming Joan Bakewell before much longer. He is a cheerful, charming, festival baby.

My ideal breakfast lasts a long time but not during Ways With Words. The candles have to be unlit; the pots put in the dishwasher and we all have to rush to get on with the festival. Proper breakfast is a good start to the day.

We arrive at Dartington Hall, walk across the courtyard and enjoy watching visitors relaxing in the Penguin deckchairs.

GOOD MORNING WAYS WITH WORDS – we are ready for anything.

The next Ways With Words festival at Dartington Hall will be our 20th and is from 8-18 July, 2011. Twenty years of festival breakfasts!

Wednesday, 19 May 2010

I went to see the Henry Moore exhibition at Tate Britain. Drawings of mothers and babies, big elm sculptures, small stone ones: each room was a treat. At the end we had a coffee and watched a television programme on his life.

“I think in shapes not words”, Moore said.

I am the reverse. I think of myself as a words not a shapes person; not surprising as I run Ways With Words. However all our festivals are for people who think in pictures and shapes as well as words. At Dartington Hall the gardens must have been landscaped by someone who saw the world in shapes. The tiltyard has geometric terraces, the row of yew trees are clipped into bulbous shapes, the paths and steps divide the gardens into blocks and there are very shapely sculptures to stroke. There’s even a Henry Moore.

Come to think of it I love shapes almost as much as words.

The festival programme links words and images in many ways. Some writers have written about art and artists: Frances Spalding on the Pipers, Jonathan Jones on Da Vinci and Michelangelo, Michael Bird on Bryan Wynter. There are also some practicing artists discussing and showing images of their work. Richard Long had a major retrospective exhibition at Tate Britain last year. It left me speechless with emotion and awe – wordless in fact. Martin Creed (like Long, a Turner Prize-winner) is explaining his subversive art, as is Edmund de Waal, the world famous ceramicist. I shall be rushing to all of these – suspending my word-dominated life and reveling in the visual.

The Ways With Words festival of words and ideas takes place at Dartington Hall, Devon, 9-19 July. Come to hear the above, but if art isn’t your thing try kissing with Lana Citron, food with Rose Prince, wine with Simon Hoggart, waves with Gavin Pretor-Pinney, wild-life with Simon King – and loads more.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

After a festival is finished people often ask me, “What were the highlights for you?”

It’s like being asked which is your favourite child – an impossible question. I struggle to think of highlights and details which I can easily relay: the events that made me laugh; where I felt moved to tears; the ideas that inspired me; the new information I learnt. Often people like to hear a remembered joke. I’ve told many people about James Long interviewing Jeremy Hardy about his memoirs at our March festival in Cumbria. Remembering his mother, Jeremy Hardy said that she believed the family was descended from Sir Christopher Wren. When James referred to Wren Jeremy H. interrupted, “You say Wren; we say Uncle Chris.” There was lots of laughter throughout this event but I remember this joke particularly.

It is always satisfying to see the audience enthralled as they were by Shirley Williams. Her talk at Words by the Water was a highlight for me too. She said that as a child, contemplating her own comfortable home, she realized that wealth and advantage were unfairly distributed. Thus she turned to a life in politics.

A true highlight for me was an unexpected one. That is the pleasure of festivals; their serendipity nature. I expected to laugh at Jeremy Hardy and to be impressed by Shirley Williams but the 17th Century writer, Thomas Traherne was a surprise treat. Denise Inge discussed Traherne’s philosophy with Mark Vernon. Felicity, blessedness, happiness, joy – that was Thomas Traherne’s life’s work. “Nothing but felicity is worthy of our labour,” he wrote, and teaching happiness became his vocation.

Which is probably why I like running festivals: they teach happiness. It’s not all laughter and joy. Some talks are disturbing but memorable, as when Chris Rogers revealed his findings about Romanian and Turkish orphanages.

Most people, most of the time, leave Ways With Words' festivals feeling uplifted and enlightened. Their attention is turned to a new way of seeing the world; a fresh appreciation of its diversity and richness; a greater compassion for others. Very Traherne, very Ways With Words.

If you were unable to be at Words by the Water in Cumbria some of the above speakers will be appearing at Ways With Words at Dartington Hall, 9-19 July. The full programme will be available mid-May.

Tuesday, 09 March 2010

Don’t you feel annoyed if someone short-changes you on details when they give you some information. “The bride looked lovely”, they say or, “We had a delicious meal.”

It’s quite useless. “Not enough information!” you shriek. You want to know about the satin pumps, lily of the valley posy, cream roses in the hair. Or the touch of tarragon in the wine sauce. People need to be taught to observe and tell the details.

This is particularly true of writing. At Words by the Water William Fiennes was complimented on the detail in his descriptive writing. He replied, “The world is composed of details. Good writing is never vague or general. The life of a book is in the detail”. This is the best advice I’ve heard for would be writers. No need to do an M.A. in creative writing. Just remember this advice.

Friday, 05 March 2010

Next Friday, 12 March, at the Words by the Water literature festival, writers and tutors will be discussing whether creative writing can be taught. I think it can because I am a great believer in people’s capacity to learn and develop new skills. I run literature festivals because I believe creative reading can be taught also. I don’t mean we are here to teach reading. Not de-coding print, Look and Say, phonetics, Peter and Jane stuff. Rather I think literature festivals teach a passion for books, a curious mind and a capacity to read thoughtfully and to interact with what has been read.

Recently I have read 2 books which made me think about my own creative reading. Susan Hill decided to spend a year reading and re-reading books from her bookshelves. The process was so illuminating she wrote a book about it called, “Howards End is on the Landing”. The title intrigued me but the process more so. I inspected my own bookshelves to answer the question, “Who am I, as defined by my books?”

In his book, "Outside of a Dog", Rick Gekoski says that his reading has been an integral part of his development. “Every reading experience vibrates subtly across the jelly of being. We are made and continually transformed by what and how we read.” His book has a wacky title that comes from Groucho Marx: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” He takes us on a tour of 25 books that have been special to him and made the man. Doesn’t this make you ask which books have made you? I’m eager to get titles, and reasons for those choices. At Words by the Water we shall have an on-going display of people’s bibliomemoirs. If you aren’t going to be at the festival email me a few lines for the display about a book that shaped you. (kay@wayswithwords.co.uk)

Words by the Water starts today – Friday 5 March – at Theatre by the Lake, Keswick, Cumbria.Rick Gekoski will speak on Thursday 11 March at 10.30am on ‘A Bibliomemoir’.